


Baby, kick off your shoes

by richie-tozier-is-my-eboy (HiKidsDoYouLikeViolence)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Consent Issues, Drunk Driving, F/M, First Time, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Teenagers, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27591887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiKidsDoYouLikeViolence/pseuds/richie-tozier-is-my-eboy
Summary: “That's what you want, right?” she says, like it’s obvious. “That’s why you came in here?”Rich and Bev get hot-and-heavy but all he can think about is Eddie.
Relationships: Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 63





	Baby, kick off your shoes

**Author's Note:**

> this fic has everything: wholesome friendship, female orgasm and a weird, fucked up vibe throughout

“My dad’s gone for the weekend,” says Beverly. The brisk, evening wind shifts her short hair upright, although she barely shivers, acclimatised after the few hours they’d been out there. The alcohol no doubt helps, too, as she tips back the remainder of her third beer.

“Where?” asks Richie. He's just as buzzed, if not more, already onto beer number five. 

The Barrens are basked in orange, his hands beginning to feel a little bite as the last sliver of daylight departs from the sky. He keeps trying to hide them away up inside his sleeves, but his long arms prove the task to be an impossibility.

“Portland to visit my aunt,” says Bev. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “We can go back there if you want. Use up some of my stash.”

They’re at opposite ends of the makeshift fire pit Ben and Mike put together at the beginning of the summer, both too lazy to bother with lighting it. Richie had forgotten Maine’s autumn was upon them now, everyone back at school, the days shortening.

Chin flat against his knees, he tilts his half-empty against the dirt with an index finger. “Slumber party!” he jokes, putting on his best valley-girl accent. It needs a little more work.

“Sure,” replies Bev.

Snickering mildly, Richie’s overbite slips away slightly as he realises, “Wait, really?”

“I don’t care.” Beverly crumples the can in her hands. She gets a twinkle in her eye. “Why? Afraid if you sleep in a girl’s bed you’ll catch cooties?”

Richie snorts, rubs a heavy hand over his face. Maybe he’s a little drunker than he originally thought. “You’re a girl? Since when?”

He doesn’t bother dodging when Beverly tosses her beercan at him, bats it away with his arm instead with another, loud guffaw.

“Ass!” she grins.

Richie brays like a donkey in response, hearty and loud, feeling good when he gets a giggle out of Beverly for his efforts.

They stick around another twenty minutes or so before they mutually agree it’s best to leave before it gets any colder, taking Richie’s truck back into town. Richie does his best impression of sober when they end up rolling past Sheriff Bowers’ cruiser on the way, only able to take a breath once the red and blue have disappeared out of his rearview mirror.

Beside him, Beverly cries delightedly, “You totally shit yourself!”

“Excuse you, young lady,” says Richie, nonchalant like his heart isn’t rattling inside his ribcage a mile a minute. “I’ll have you know I haven’t shit myself since I was a Junior.”

“You mean a kid?” she replies, reaching down for a new beer from the footwell.

“Nope,” pops Richie as she cracks it open. “Junior year.”

Bev grins into the emerging froth, slurping it up before it can spill. “I don’t think that’s something to be bragging about, Rich.”

“Hey. Let a guy live his life,” he answers, pulling up onto Beverly’s street.

They carry the rest of the booze between them on the trek up to Bev’s flat. Richie is left having to balance it all in his arms whilst she gets the door open, spilling everything over her coffee table the millisecond he’s close enough to it.

“We should invite Eddie,” Richie announces, already searching about for the rotary.

Beverly guides him in the right direction. “We should!”

“Our little Spaghetti Man,” he says as he paws for the phone.

“Our Spag _eddie_ ,” joins in Bev, hugging his waist.

“That’s a good’un, Marsh!” he exclaims, rowdy as he tucks the receiver under his chin.

Richie barely has to concentrate, the digits well-familiarised as he shoots them into the different slates. He sways them as he waits for the call to process, which it does fairly quickly.

“Hello?” cuts through into Richie’s ear, haughty and self-important. “This is Sonia Kaspbrak speaking.”

Rolling his eyes, he grits a smile. “Mrs. K! Always a pleasure. Is Eddie about?”

The line goes cold and Richie almost thinks she’s straight up hung up on him. That is until she replies, “And what business do you have with him at this time?”

Beverly sidles herself so that they’re hip-to-hip. Richie automatically turns the phone sideways so that she can eavesdrop.

“School project, ma’am.”

“Oh?” replies Sonia. “Eddie didn’t tell me he’d been assigned anything…”

“He didn’t?” Richie lies with ease. “Probably because it’s extra credit, not due for another month or so… _but_ it’s always a good idea to get on top of these things, don’t you think, Mrs. K?”

By his side, Beverly grins and crosses her fingers. Meanwhile, Sonia hums down the line, the pair waiting on bated breath for her verdict.

“Call again tomorrow,” she finally says, Richie’s shoulders slumping. “He was feeling a little under the weather at dinner and I don’t want you causing him any unnecessary stress.”

“You’re right. We wouldn’t want that,” he agrees sweetly, Bev stifling amusement. “In that case, can I at least wish him a ‘get better soon’?”

“I’ll pass it along,” says Sonia curtly.

“That’s a little impersonal, don’t you think?” Richie pushes his luck. “I’m sure a—”

“Goodbye, Richard,” Sonia cuts him off.

The line dies and the pair side-eye one another.

“What a bitch!” berates Bev first, squashing her cheek up against his bicep.

“Tell me about it,” grumbles back Richie. He tries not to appear too disappointed as he clumsily sets the telephone back down into its cradle.

She offers, “Wanna try someone else?”

“Nah,” he replies. “Unless you wanna?” 

Bev shrugs.

Richie laces his fingers together beneath his chin, batting his eyelashes. “Maybe _Bill_? You two have been awfully cozy lately...”

“Beep beep!” She smacks him but remains smirking, pulling away. 

Richie holds up open palms and feigns innocence.

“Whatever. I’m gonna go put on something comfier.”

“Alright,” agrees Richie. “I gotta go piss anyway. Regroup here in ten so we can get this fucking party started?!”

Bev snorts. “Yeah. Loser.”

“Yeah-huh.” Richie does a country bumpkin, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops. “That’s me, alrigh’!”

Beverly disappears into the back and Richie goes for his piss. He ends up forgetting to drop the seat back down after he’s finished, much too busy muttering different versions of his earlier _yeah-huh_ , trying to decide which one he likes best.

Done with that, Richie goes through the apartment hall and slides dramatically through the open door of Beverly’s bedroom. “Hey, carrot top—!”

He proceeds to almost fall over.

When Beverly had said she was going to go put on something comfier, Richie hadn’t realised she meant she was going to get _changed_ , had assumed she’d just meant she was going to put on a cardigan or something, a dressing gown. Not strip down bare-assed with her door _wide open._

“Sorry!” Richie flushes, covers his eyes so fast he smacks his glasses painfully into the bridge of his nose, the temples of his forehead.

There’s a pause and then Richie swears he hears her laugh and say, “You can look, Rich. They’re just boobs.”

“Huh?” he blurts back dumbly, must have misheard her.

“I said: you can look,” confirms Beverly. And that’s definitely what she said. One hundred percent.

“Wha?”

“That's what you want, right?” she says, like it’s obvious. “That’s why you came in here?”

Because of course Richie should want to. He’s a boy, she’s a girl, it’s the way it should be. He’s _supposed_ to want to see any woman naked. Repeats the phrases he’s learnt from Bill and movies, like he knows is expected of him. He’s been trying to train himself for this very moment for years, from the moment he’d gotten a hint of his own faultiness, silently sobbing over come-stained sheets, Eddie’s name on his lips as he’d dirtied them.

“I really don’t mind,” continues Bev.

“...Really?” stammers Richie. He’s still in a little shock at what he’s hearing.

“Really, really.” Beverly’s smile is audible.

No excuse to save him, Richie lowers trembling hands, peeking over the tips of his fingers and praying that whatever’s waiting for him on the other side is finally going to fix him.

He blinks.

Beverly is undeniably pretty, but Richie had thought so anyway, with all her clothes still on.

Her dungarees and shirt are completely gone, her panties covered in little, yellow polka dots, frilly where they meet the palness of her thighs. They’re dusted with constellations of freckles, all the way down to the pantyhouse around her ankles, matching the ones Richie is used to seeing on her face.

Despite being slender and narrow-hipped, Beverly’s stomach looks soft and pliable, different to the male form Richie’s used to seeing on himself and others in the boy’s locker room. Up a little, to the place Richie has been dreading the most, he discovers the gentle swells of her breasts, dusted with rosey-pink nipples. Beverly’s house key still dangles loose between them by that old, fraying piece of string.

Richie waits impatiently for that rush of attraction he knows he’s supposed to be feeling right now, but instead he feels nothing. Nothing new, at least. It’s still Bev, and she’s still beautiful, and Richie still loves her, but that’s where the train line terminates.

“You can touch me,” she offers, interrupting Richie’s silent appraisal. She says it very matter-of-factly, the same way he’s heard her say _you can have a drag_ or _we can go get ice-cream later_ or _you can borrow my pen_. In fact, to be honest, Beverly seems rather indifferent to the whole situation.

Richie isn’t sure what to say. 

It isn’t like he has anything particularly against touching Bev’s body, but it’s not like he has any particular desire _to_ touch her either.

Playing it safe, he gives a dry-mouth, “Yeah.”

That finally cracks another smile out of her. She sits down on the edge of her unmade bed, reaches down to slip her feet out of the last little bits of her tights. Richie notices her dainty toes are painted blue. His favourite colour.

He tries taking his time going over, but his long legs end up countering it out.

Unsure what the protocol is, Richie is almost thankful when Beverly takes his hand and rests it over her left breast for him. The mound is supple and warm, and Richie’s first thought is that his fingers look extra ugly against such nice skin, red-raw from his excessive nail biting.

What now? Richie squeezes because he feels like that’s what he’s meant to do, ever-so-gentle, doesn’t want to hurt her, isn’t sure how sensitive the pressure will feel on Beverly’s end and doesn’t want to take the risk.

“We can practise, if you want,” she whispers to him.

“Practise?” he gulps.

“Yeah,” she confirms. “Kissing. Touching. Fucking. Whatever you want.”

“Bev...” says Richie, big hand still connected to her awkwardly. “I don’t—I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to date.”

Beverly laughs the way she does when Richie tells a good joke. “Who said anything about us dating, trashmouth?”

Laughing, too, albeit with a smidge of hysteria, Richie replies, “Well, uh, doesn’t that come with the territory of… all this stuff.”

“Not necessarily,” says Bev, warm and friendly, like Richie groping her isn’t anything out of the ordinary, like they do this every Tuesday. “I know you’re not the type to kiss and tell.”

“You sure about that, red?” Richie tries to add a little levity. “It’s kind of in the name.”

Shaking her head, Beverly winds her arms around Richie’s neck with another giggle. Richie laughs along again, no idea what else to do but.

“I trust you,” she says. “And I wanna pay you back. After everything you’ve done for me this year. Letting me hang out at your house all the time so I don’t have to deal with him anymore.”

“You don’t have to pay me back for that, Bev,” he replies, smoothing both hands up the back of her skinny arms, a place he’s much more used to touching. “I like hanging out.”

“No, I want to,” she insists. Beverly tilts her lips up towards his. “Let me.”

And that’s how Richie ends up on his back, pantless, shirtless and with two fingers hooked up inside his best friend’s vagina.

His neck is damp from Beverly panting into it, hidden away whilst he explores her, his knuckles straining against the confines of her pretty knickers with every slick, careful movement. 

It’s a weird kind of sensation, but Bev seems to be rather into it, especially when Richie uses his thumb to squish against this fleshy bump just above her opening, her breath hiking up ever-so-slightly every time he does it.

“I have condoms,” she murmurs into his skin.

“This is okay,” replies Richie, terrified any moment now she’s going to notice just how incredibly flaccid he is in his ratty boxers. “Does it feel good for you?”

“Yes,” Beverly whispers, hushed. And then, even quieter, “No one’s ever done it like this before.

Richie’s movement stutters, afraid he’s been caught out. “How should I do it?” he requests her guidance.

“No, I meant I like it,” she replies, snuggling a little closer. Her hands curl against his naked shoulders. “You’re doing a good job.”

“Oh, okay. Gotcha.” Richie’s words are stiff. He brings his free hand to lay flat against the small of her warm back.

Despite the weirdness of the situation, the skin-on-skin is comforting in a way he hadn’t been expecting. Like a heightened version of their usual cuddling, just with a lot more rigid wrist movements and heavy-breathing.

Quickly distracted by the artex on the ceiling, Richie’s mind begins to conjure up different faces and shapes hidden in the bumps and swirls. He buries his nose into Beverly’s hair whilst he does so and is immediately derailed. It smells really good. Something fruity he can’t quite place. Mango? No, it’s sweeter than that. Pineapple? Passionfruit? He’s certain it’s something tropical.

He mindlessly keeps up the caress of his fingers as he ponders, steady and repeating. He keeps at it with the same kind of energy he rolls bluetac between his fingers with during class, twirls his truck’s key open and closed, winds the stray thread from his jacket sleeve around his thumb over and over.

Yeah, that’s definitely pineapple, but there’s something else, too. Something that had thrown Richie off his original identification. What _was_ that?

“Pomegranates,” he mumbles.

“Wha—oh, _fuck_.” Bev suddenly grips onto Richie very tightly, her thighs seizing up, insides fluttering around Richie’s fingers. 

Richie retracts his hand in a flash, listening as she lets out a long sigh by his ear, laxing again. “Bevy?” he says in a panic. “Are you okay?”

“Hm?” Beverly drags herself up, open-legged over Richie, sweaty and pink. “What’d ya mean?”

“You sounded like I hurt you,” replies Richie, frantic as he touches her waist.

Bemused, Bev pushes her bangs out of her eyes. “What? No, I just came. More importantly, why were _you_ going on about fucking pomegranates?”

“Girls can come?!” exclaims Richie, so shocked he misses the second question.

He watches her try very hard to keep a straight face. She doesn’t manage it. She only cracks a little at first, with a wobbly smile and a giggle that escapes through her nose. The second one successfully breaches past her lips, which she slaps a hand over to try and damage control, but it’s too late. The dam is broken and she’s already devolving into hysterics.

“What?” demands Richie, high-pitched and leaning into his mistake. “What? What? Gimme a break, lady! I’ve never done this before!”

Beverly is openly weeping now, barely able to catch her breath she’s laughing so fiercely. She wipes at her slick cheeks and Richie swears he’s never seen her having such the time of her life before.

“What about all those summer camp girls, Richie?” she teases, gasping for air. “Eddie’s—Eddie’s—” Beverly looks so delighted by what she’s about to say, she can barely get it out. “Eddie’s mom didn’t teach you?!”

Richie promptly dissolves into fits of laughter, too, both of them clinging onto one another as they shake with giggles. This is much, much better than whatever they’d been doing earlier. Pleasant even. Richie has a quick boost of confidence he’s gonna be able to do this after all, that is until his boxers are being dragged down over his knees, exposed.

“Holy fucking shit, trashmouth!” she exclaims, laughter abruptly halting. “You’re huge!”

Burning so fiercely he can feel it on his ears, Richie stammers a playful, “I mean, I tried to tell you guys…”

Laughing a little softer, Bev wets her hand and takes a solid grip around his base, making him jolt. “You better be gentle when you’re inside me later or I’m never talking to you again,” she warns.

“I will,” Richie trips over himself to promise, pretends like the idea isn’t the most unappealing thing he’s ever heard.

Their lips meet again at Beverly’s discretion, Richie watching the way her eyelashes flutter as they do so. She keeps touching him all the while, her mouth feeling plump and warm against Richie’s chapped one. He’s still pretty perplexed what exactly she’s getting out of all of this. This can’t exactly be very appealing to her. Even _Richie_ wouldn’t wanna fuck Richie.

Her ministrations manage to get him about half mast, but that’s about it.

When it becomes apparent he isn’t getting any harder, she stops.

“You all good down there?” she asks, unmocking.

“Uh,” Richie flounders.

Beverly waits patiently.

”Performance anxiety,” is the closest to the truth Richie can offer her, his obvious embarrassment coming in handy as he sells it the best he can.

Beverly buys. Her green eyes soften and she shifts up onto an elbow, Richie able to feel the way her breasts press up against his rib. She moves her hand over him with a little more care, almost a kindness.

“It’s just me. You don’t have to be nervous.” Her non-judgement makes Richie feel better despite the deliberate misunderstanding. “I was only joking earlier, you know? Just can just relax and do whatever makes you feel good.”

Chewing his bottom lip, Richie nods along with her advice. He settles his head back against Beverly’s pillow, front row seats again to all the swirls in her ceiling. Whatever makes him feel good?

Releasing an exhale, he closes his eyes.

He thinks about last weekend at Bill’s house. Thinks about sitting in that garden chair, the one with the rickety leg, chlorine drying in his hair and the taste of ketchup in his mouth. About the half-eaten hotdog he never finished, grunge on the speakers, laughter all around him.

Eddie and Mike are playing badminton in the pool. Richie watches them through the safety of his prescription sunglasses, crack over the left lens from when he’d sat on them. Watches _Eddie._ The slippery, pale skin bobbing in and out of the water. The strain of his compact body with every swing of the racket. His pirate smile, goading and animate. That competitive streak Richie has always admired. Wet fringe plastered to his forehead. Dark swirls beneath his armpits.

He’s twirling the racket between deft fingers now, laughing at something Mike has said.

He turns towards Richie, away from the match, looks straight at him. It’s like he can see past the dimmed glass, past Richie’s feigned indifference, past everything that’s ever held Richie back. 

He smiles and all-at-once Mike isn’t there anymore. Nobody is. No more Bill manning the grill, no Stan refereeing the game, no Ben chattering nearby, no Beverly on the garden’s only sun lounger.

The back garden is empty. The whole town, too. There’s no one but him and Eddie Kaspbrak for miles and miles and miles.

And Richie no longer has to feel like some pervert in this version of his reality, like some peeping tom, like his attention is unwanted, because now Eddie is looking back at him in exactly the same way.

Water runs slick off Eddie’s torso as he hauls himself up the ladder, his saturated swimming trunks sending little streams that run off down his hairy legs.

Before Richie, mopped back hair dripping lazily onto his shoulders, Eddie looms into his space. He takes hold of the back of the chair, either side of him, and now the water droplets are splashing against Richie, too. He smirks in the face of Richie’s reverence, not unkindly, but rather, knowingly. Warmly. Richie reaches up to cup his cheeks, presses into those thin, pink lips, and is reciprocated without hesitation.

“I want you,” Eddie says against his mouth soundlessly, and then they’re in Richie’s bedroom, where this always devolves to, and the pressure on his cock turns into Eddie's hand, the fantasy heightened by the lack of Richie’s input, own arms loose by his sides.

He loves those hands. Manicured and soft as satin. Pines for them pathetically from afar. Helpless with every innocent touch he gets from them. And now Eddie’s hands are here. Touching Richie in a way no one ever has before.

Nothing else matters but this. This place where it’s just the two of them. This place where Eddie _wants_ him.

“See? Just had to relax a little.” An exhale runs warm across Richie’s face and he’s snapped from his fantasy.

Beverly smiles at him. Beverly. Beverly, not Eddie. Beverly and _her_ hand fisting firm and sure over Richie’s stiff cock.

She spits on him for a little more lubrication, continues stroking him in one hand whilst she tears something open with her teeth. Richie numbly registers it as a condom wrapper, only knows that thanks to their sex ed class Sophomore year.

Beverly pinches the top against Richie’s head, but before she can roll the latex down his shaft, he’s already drooping.

They both peer down at him in surprise.

Panicking, Richie tries to claw back his vision of Eddie, those slivers of skin he’s so seldom granted, but all he sees is Bev’s small hand, the feminine curve of her face, her breasts.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, cheeks flaming hot.

“It’s okay, honey,” Bev uses her soothing voice. Her hand smooths Richie’s inner thigh and it tickles a little. “Maybe if I use my mouth?”

“No,” leaves Richie's mouth, hard and fast.

Beverly is taken aback. “No?” she repeats. It’s almost as if she doesn’t know what to do with the information.

“No,” confirms Richie. He’s defeated. Doesn’t want to play this part any longer.

“Oh.” Bev tucks stray hair behind her ear. She shrugs up a shoulder. “Sure.”

There’s a long, awkward drag where they just stare at one another before Richie, stiffly, drags over the duvet to cover himself with. Bev stays bare, still processing the rejection.

Finally, she slips up off the bed, goes to flush the unused protection down the toilet.

“Bev?” says Richie as she re-enters, adjusting his glasses pointlessly. “Are we cool?”

“Of course we’re cool,” replies Bev, like that much is obvious. “Why wouldn’t we be cool?”

“Um.” Richie swallows. “I dunno.”

She shakes her head at him with a smile, like he’s said something dumb, and ruffles up his hair. It makes Richie feel better.

“Hey, Bev?” he asks again.

“Yeah?”

“Can we… still cuddle?”

“Sure.”

He lifts up the quilt for her and Beverly slips under. They maneuver around one another until they find something comfy for the both of them; Bev’s head against his collar bone, wispy hairs tucked out the way so they aren’t tickling Richie’s nose, their legs tangled together.

They drift back into silence, this one a little more comfortable.

“Please can you not tell the guys about this?” Richie breaks it with a soft plea. He knows it’s unlikely, borderlining uncertainty that Beverly would ever bring this up with anyone, but he trusts her word as true and he needs it to be able to sleep easy this embarrassment is going to stay between just them.

“Of course not,” answers Beverly.

He unfurls, hand beginning to pet her back. “Thanks, Molly.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://richie-tozier-is-my-eboy.tumblr.com/). send me a [prompt](https://richie-tozier-is-my-eboy.tumblr.com/ask) :)


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